Razor's Kiss
by PaleLittleGirl
Summary: Just once. Just once he wanted to know how the razor felt piercing his smooth, porcelain skin...Warnings: Self Mutilation.


_**Razor's Kiss**_

**_Summary- _****_Every fiber of Harry's being was screaming at him to take the blade and slice it down his arm. Just once. Just once he wanted to know how the razor felt piercing his smooth, porcelain skin_...Warnings: Self Mutilation. AU 7th Year. **

_Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own Harry Potter. Still keeping my fingers crossed, though!_

A/N- I wrote this a while ago, and I hope its good!

Three o' clock a.m. It was so late, it was early. Harry Potter sighed tiredly as he rolled over reslessly in his four poster bed. It was haunting him. That thought, that one thought that crept into his mind whenever he was alone. And every time it did, he came closer and closer to actually acting out his fantasies.

Inside a bag next to his bed, there was a small, disposable razor. Every fiber of Harry's being was screaming at him to take the blade and slice it down his arm. Just once. Just once he wanted to know how the razor felt piercing his smooth, porcelain skin. He wanted to see the angry red mark on his wrist. He wondered if it would somehow make him feel better. About his life, his friends, his fate.

_'It has to,' _Harry thought to himself as he stared sadly at the ceiling. He wouldn't know what to do if it didn't. Lately it was like nothing mattered...with Sirius gone, life just didn't seem like it meant anything. He needed something to make him forget everything. If just for a few, precious moments.

Slowly, reverently, Harry leaned over and lifted the bag into his arms. Unzipping it open, he shuddered with pleasure. He had waited so long for this. As Harry rummaged through it eagerly, Ron gave a particularly loud snore. He paused guiltily. What if they found out? Dean, Seamus, Ron, Hermione...Hermione. Out of all of the people closest to him at school, Harry was most worried about her realizing what he was doing. Even if she wasn't a Muggleborn, who was more familiar with the idea of cutting, she would still be damn sharp.She had already noticed that he had changed in the past months...he had grown out his jet black hair to shoulder length, and he began accentuating his androgynous beauty with eyeliner. And she didn't seem to approve of his new, improved wardrobe. Harry didn't see what the big deal was- so his clothes were darker, more form fitting, more...slytherin. What the hell was the matter with that? With a mental wave of his hand, The Boy Who Lived dismissed such thoughts. He would worry about all of that later...Harry smiled darkly as his fingers closed around the hard plastic of the razor inside his bag. Pulling it out carefully, he admired it's smoothness as he ran his thumb lightly over the blade. How could he have waited this long?

In the darkness, Harry rolled up the sleeve of his night shirt up to his forarm, revealing unblemished skin. With the razor in hand, he dragged it across his arm experimentally. He frowned. Nothing, just an angry red mark. He would have to do it harder. Another drag, another red mark. Harry was getting annoyed. His stomach gave a not unpleasent lurch as he stared at the two scratches on his arm. Was he really going to do this?

Yes.

Yes, he was. He had to.

With renewed determination, Harry gripped the blade and pressed it into his warm flesh. He gave a little gasp as he felt a pure, perfect pain overwhelm his senses. Blood was dripping from his wrist when he set the razor down next to him on the bed. He blinked at the crimson liquid on his arm. An idea was forming in his mind... Licking his lips eagerly, Harry brought his wrist to his mouth, running his tongue over the wound experimentally. It tasted...good. Really good. He was suddenly short of breath as he sank his teeth into his own arm. Blood gushed into his mouth as he began to suck. A groan of surprise escaped him as he continued sucking with desperation. His surrounding swirled around him as the metallic taste of his own blood invaded his soul. Harry moaned and fell back onto the bed, growing harder and harder as the moment went on. This was perfection.

"Harry? What's going on?"

Harry tore his wrist from his lips with a gasp and looked up. Ron was staring at him, blinking sleepily.

"You were making noises in your sleep. You okay, mate? What's on your face?" Harry wiped his hands quickly across his lips and mustered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Eh...nothing...mate. Just a bad dream. Nothing to do with Voldemort," he added quickly at seeing the startled look on his friend's face. "Go back to sleep." He shifted and made sure his blanket covered him appropriatly. Awkward questions was not something he wanted to deal with right now.

Ron still looked doubtful. "If you're sure..." Harry ground his teeth annoyedly. He was beginning to feel drained, and his wrist was getting sore with every passing minute.

"I'm sure. Just...just go back to sleep, alright?" Ron slowly laid back down, looking concernedly at his friend.

"Alright...well, night, Harry." The Boy Who Lived didn't answer him. Lying back into his bed, he listened patiently for the short, even breathing of sleep to come from the redhead. He had surprised himself...Where had that sudden bloodlust come from? A feeling of calmness settled over him for the first time in months as he settled himself back into his pillows. Running his fingers across his crimson stained lips, Harry realized that the blood had settled his sour stomach. Interesting. He wondered lazily what Sirius would think of this new development. He stared into nothingness, absorbed with his thoughts.

He missed him so much. The way he was so protective, the way he treated him like an equal, the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. Sometimes Harry thought he had been sort of in love with his godfather. What other explaination was there for the way he felt now...like there was a hole in his heart? Like he would never smile again? And his friends didn't notice. No, Harry realized. They had noticed, at least for a little while. But now it seemed as if they felt he should 'get over it'. It wasn't as if there was some button he could push to make his feelings go away. If there was, Harry would have pushed it long ago.

But none of that mattered anymore, did it? He had something now, something to make all of that seem insignificant. He had blood. He had that rich, metallic taste. He had the cleansing pain. What more did he need?

Harry smiled sleepily.

What more did he need?

End.

A/N- Well, what did you think? Reviews are very appreciated.


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